What Might Have Been
by SurferSquid
Summary: Revan obeys the Jedi Council and never goes to fight in the Mandalorian Wars. The problem fixes itself, courtesy of some familiar faces from the New Jedi Order era. AU, written using KotOR canon, not TOR's expansions and retcons.
1. Chapter 1

"_Stay," advised the Jedi Council._

_So Revan did._

_Yes, the Galactic Republic was in the throes of war against the seemingly unstoppable Mandalorian threat, and worlds were being taken, untold numbers of people were dying and falling under the jurisdiction of conquerors, but the Council was wise, and Revan had no reason to distrust them. _

_He let his youthful and passionate impulses fade for the life of a quiet servant of the Force. Last anyone heard, he was brokering agricultural negotiations on Corellia with his friend Alek, as far from the front lines as anyone could be in those tumultuous days._

Lhosa Tarnor scrolled absently through endless data sets, glancing at the chronometer at the corner of the holodisplay and waiting semi-patiently for her shift to end. The Khil huffed through her _hullepi_ in mild exasperation, causing an airy dissonance of tones to fill the air. If Grat were still here, she thought, he would have complained about the sound breaking his concentration, but he'd gone to his dorm an hour ago. Now it was just Lhosa and a room full of sensor feeds and readouts and grids, and fifteen minutes standing between her and a packet of ripened air and some fruit juice. Her unique biology gave her a vastly different diet than most of the other sentients working on the Outer Rim outpost, but she always put her order in for the sort of sustenance she required, delivered weekly by the supply barges. Lonely work, but someone had to do it and the pay was good. One of these days, she told herself, she'd take a vacation, maybe to Alderaan.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by an alert coming up on the display—a docking request. Her eyes narrowed. This was odd. Almost as suddenly as she thought that, she felt the station rock and shift under her, the gravity generators fumbling to compensate, and she scrambled to get out of her chair as it fell over. Several displays flashed red, emergency alerts telling her that something was going seriously wrong in the vicinity of the outpost, while the docking request alert still chimed impatiently, oblivious to everything else going on as it dutifully carried out the parameters of its programming.

As the shaking subsided, Lhosa made her way back to the console, confused and conflicted as she simultaneously and expertly opened communications with the ship requesting docking, and turned on the visual feeds so she could see just what was going on out there.

The harsh crackling voice of a human male came in on the communications line: "Let us into your docking bay and raise your shields, _now!_"

His accent was recognizably Mandalorian, Lhosa realized. She looked up at the feeds and her stomach dropped. An entire fleet of Mandalorian vessels, mostly capital ships and frigates, was outside her tiny outpost. The Mandalorians were takers of worlds—why would they have any business in this remote asteroid field?

That question was swiftly answered when several of the asteroids began moving of their own volition and attacking the Mandalorian ships, shooting strange blasts of energy at them as the space rocks swarmed together. From around other fragmentary planetoids came ships the likes of which Lhosa had never seen, strange, uncomfortably organic masses that swooped around to join the asteroids in assaulting the Mandalorians.

"What's going on out there?!" she asked the ship that had been hailing the outpost.

"Let us in and we'll tell you!" the male barked back.

"Okay, fine!" Lhosa replied, entering in the code to open the bay doors. "Just, ah, don't kill anyone!" she added awkwardly, realizing she should have thought of that _before_ she'd allowed them access to the outpost.

"No promises." The smirk was evident in the male's voice. There was a pause, and then: "Raise the shields, moron!"

"Uh, right!" Lhosa scrambled to remember how to get to the function that controlled the outpost's defenses (that was P'arvid's job and Lhosa had only seen her do it a few times to protect against stray chunks of space rock broken off from the large bodies in the belt). Just in time, she keyed in the command and watched as volleys of fire impacted an iridescent sheet across the view the feeds were displaying; the outpost rocked and tilted, but the gravity adjusters gave the structure the sensation of righting itself quickly like a boat bobbing through a wave. The Khil held on to a console until it was over. She hoped this battle would end soon or she was liable to get seasick. Everyone else was probably awake by now, and they would not be happy. P'arvid would definitely dock Lhosa's pay for this flagrant breach of protocol.

"Lock down the dormitories," the voice came one last time.

"What?! No!" Lhosa replied, aghast. First these people wanted to dock and now she was supposed to lock in her own co-workers? She really should have taken that vacation sooner, she lamented. Why was it her fate to get stuck in something like this?

"Do it or we'll kill them all. Your choice. But I'm not going to have a bunch of incompetents running around tripping up my squad while we try to contact the Republic."

"You want to—what-?!" The poor Khil was completely confused now, and, not seeing any faster way to get her questions answered, did as she was told and locked down the doors connecting the dormitories to the rest of the facility. She was really going to catch it now. Forget a pay dock—she could count on not keeping her job after this. "Okay, there, it's done," she sighed in exasperation. "Anything else I can do for you?" The request was, of course, sarcastic.

And, of course, her correspondent didn't take it that way. "Yeah, come to the docking bay and show us to the control room."

Lhosa buried her face in her hand as she made her way into the hall, leaning against the wall for support as the station lurched again. Thank goodness for those gravity generators under the floors, or they might all be walking on the ceiling right now.

The station was too small to have anything more than a single lightweight docking bay designed to hold a few requisite emergency escape shuttles and a freight hauler or two. However, crammed awkwardly into it aside the shuttles was a steel grey ship with a bubble-canopy cockpit, a pointed nose-cone, and a high back, with two polygonal fins folded at its sides like stubby wings. It had somehow wedged itself into the bay with probably only a meter to spare between it and the ceiling, and knocked several cargo containers askew, pushing them out of the way to make room.

Lhosa watched as a handful of humanoids wearing body-encompassing armor and slinging heavy weapons disembarked from the gangplank, and she approached them reluctantly. The figure that seemed to be their leader was a tall, imposing male who carried a blaster weapon so huge that it could easily be mistaken for a small laser cannon—his armor was a sensible combination of sepias and umbers and looked like it had seen its fair share of battles (as did the others'). "So, you decided to come after all," he growled, sounding thoroughly annoyed. Lhosa recognized his voice as that of the person who'd been communicating with her earlier, and it held a hard, unimpressed tone. Lhosa wasn't surprised—she was never an impressive person to begin with and she was sure she looked extra pathetic next to these warriors.

Not wasting any time, he strode forward, his comrades falling into formation after him. "All right, let's go," he urged, brandishing his blaster to move Lhosa back into the hall. "We don't exactly have all day," he reminded her, another bout of stray fire sending a tremor through the station as if to back up his statement.

"I know, I know," Lhosa muttered, her _hullepi_ fluttering in annoyance as she turned around and waved over her shoulder for them to follow her. Whatever these Mandalorians were here to do had better be quick—she wanted them and the battle gone so she could get some dinner and some sleep.

"Cut her some slack, Canderous," one of the other Mandalorians, a female in muted cyan and dusty tan armor, said dryly, her vibroblade turned outward in constant expectation of an attack as they advanced into the hall. "She's only a civilian."

"Being a civilian is no excuse for incompetence, Parja," her superior replied curtly. Lhosa clenched her fists. She was _trying_ to be competent.

Suddenly, the station rocked again and out from a perpendicular hallway tumbled a tall, dirt-orange hulk, clawed appendages flailing bonelessly as it crashed into the wall, nearly crushing Lhosa in the process. The Mandalorians stiffened and readied their weapons, but Lhosa stood over the groaning pile protectively. "Calm down, it's just Grat," she assured them, although if they had known who Grat was, that wouldn't be much of a consolation.

"I thought you said you'd locked down the dorms," Canderous said flatly. The seething anger in his voice was nearly visible in the air like some sort of dangerous red vapor.

"She locked down the dorms?!" the hulk echoed, slowly raising itself to its column-like feet and shaking its grotesque, round head, which looked comparatively little on such a large body. It glared down at Lhosa with pale yellow eyes.

"I had to or else they were going to kill everybody!" Lhosa protested, holding out her arms. "Now please move, Grat, we need to get to the control room."

The Drovian ignored her plea. "So that's why I couldn't get back in after I went to the 'fresher! This yer idea of a practical joke?!"

"Look, Grat," an exasperated Lhosa reached up and grabbed the Drovian's head, turning it forcibly towards their "guests". "Mandalorians!"

Grat let out a gurgly cry of surprise and stumbled back. "M-Mandos! What are they doin' here?!"

"I don't know, but we'd better do as they say unless we want to get spaced," Lhosa hissed, tugging at his thick arm to get him to move along the hall.

"I think we do owe them an explanation, Canderous," Parja suggested as they all crammed into a lift, Lhosa and one of the other warriors being shoved uncomfortably up against Grat, who seemed to be just as unhappy about it as they were. Lhosa was just glad that at least one of them seemed to have some manners.

"Not at the expense of our objectives—" Canderous started to say, but suddenly the lights flickered and the lift jolted to a stop for one adrenaline-pumping moment before starting back up again and delivering them to the level containing the control room.

"That didn't look good," Lhosa muttered.

"I don't know what's going on," Grat grumbled down at her, "but it's your fault."

"I know, I know, and I'm going to get fired after this anyway so you'll never have to see me again," Lhosa deadpanned, glaring up at the Drovian who knew just how to be extraordinarily unhelpful at the worst possible times.

Back in the control room, Canderous immediately set one of his other squadmates to work on the console while the others stood anxiously around her. "Excuse me, but I think I know how to operate that better than you do," Lhosa pointed out, a little miffed that the Mandalorians seemed to think they could appropriate whatever they needed for their purposes, whether it be communications systems or entire star systems.

"Doesn't matter," the woman sighed, tilting her helmet over at the Khil wearily. "Comms have been knocked out, probably by that last attack." She snorted and went back to typing feverishly. "I'll restore them as fast as I can, Commander. Sit tight."

Canderous folded his arms. "This had better not take long."

"Of course not, sir."

Five minutes of work yielded nothing, and although the poor woman was obviously trying her hardest, there was naught but sounds of frustration coming from underneath her helmet. Most of the other Mandalorians had taken seats in the vacant positions at the other consoles and were watching her work and chatting idly to each other in their own language; Lhosa and Grat sat with their backs against a desk, not really sure what to do now.

"So…are we like hostages or somethin'?" Grat asked.

"Until they finish what they came here to do, I suppose the answer is effectively 'yes'," Lhosa replied, curling her knees toward her chest and resting her head in her hands. "And I thought this was going to be a _normal_ day."

One of the Mandalorians said something to Parja, who nodded and approached the two civilians, crouching down in front of them. "Sorry about all of this," she apologized. "We would have been out of here sooner if these systems hadn't gotten fried. Rotten luck, I guess."

"Yeah, _real_ rotten," Grat muttered, his eyes narrowed.

"…You're a Drovian, aren't you," Parja said in sudden recognition. "What are you doing here on a research outpost? Your kind are warriors."

"Yeah, yeah," Grat replied, waving one flabby boneless arm dismissively. "The grudge wars are all fine and dandy, but frankly I'd rather not lose my head over it—literally." He chuckled darkly. "So it's a desk job for me, thanks."

"Heh." Parja seemed at least marginally amused by the idea of a cowardly Drovian before turning to Lhosa. "The squad hasn't had a chance to restock on rations for a while, and you're going to show me to the galley so I can get us something to eat."

She offered a hand to help Lhosa to her feet, which the Khil accepted. "You Mandalorians aren't too great at asking politely for things, are you," Lhosa quipped as she led Parja out of the room.

The woman shrugged in reply. "It's not our way."

The kitchens were down on a lower level, and when they got there, Lhosa pulled out a small storage bin and began stocking it with Human food (and food that Humans enjoyed and could tolerate) from the pantry and refrigeration unit. The ship still shuddered occasionally. Thankfully, there were a few Humans and near-Humans working at the station and there was plenty of food stored in case a delivery shipment was late or missed—of course, that didn't make this any less of a major infraction. Lhosa began to wonder how her parents would take it if she moved in with them for a while when she had to go hunting for a new job, and if she would have to go back to school to earn more credentials.

Parja leaned against a counter, one armored leg crossed over another, observing Lhosa. "Cozy little place you've got, here," she commented.

Lhosa looked up and was surprised to see that Parja had removed her helmet. The woman appeared to be a baseline Human in her forties, with deep brown skin and a broad, flat nose set in a round face with high cheekbones, one of which had a long scar gouged in it. Her eyes were a dark sienna and her graying-black, crimp-curled hair was cropped close to her head. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her expression was serene, yet sharply observant. It was strange to see the face of an organic, looking so small and out of place, mounted on a body of armor, weapons, and equipment. With the Mandalorians and the way they hid behind their helmets, it was easy to forget that they were people and not just mindless killing machines. Lhosa didn't know if there was any method behind their madness and she supposed she also didn't have any guarantee that they would keep this station intact once they were done with it.

Catching herself staring, she rustled her _hullepi_ sheepishly and went back to gathering food. It was hard to say what Humans liked, so she would just bring a little of everything and hopefully they wouldn't be too picky. Lhosa was glad she didn't have to bother with eating solid materials—it seemed terribly complicated. "Yeah…it's pretty nice. It's a relatively new station, was just built about ten years ago. I've been working here for about three years, now," she commented. She didn't quite know why she was having a conversation with this woman other than that, by Mandalorian standards, Parja seemed quite friendly. "How about you?" Lhosa asked, closing the door to the refrigeration unit and standing up with her bin of food. "How long have you…er…been in the business?"

Parja laughed. "My whole life, really. I was trained since before I can remember, and when I was ten or so I accompanied my mom on my first official job. Those were the days," she reminisced fondly, folding her arms and staring at the ceiling. "Not that this war hasn't been plenty exciting. They'll be telling stories about us for ages afterward, I'm sure."

"Oh, I'm _sure_ they will," Lhosa replied a little irately. History was written by the victors, after all. "Don't you feel any sort of remorse for all of the people you've killed, all the destruction you've caused?"

Parja looked as though she was going to say something, her lips pursed, and then she stopped and relaxed, looking off at the far wall nonchalantly. "…I don't enjoy destruction for the fun of it," she commented. "Plenty of my fellow _Mando'ade_ do, but that isn't what it's about. It's expansion. Nothing personal. We need room to grow, and your Republic is weak and soft. The perfect time for a replacement." She cracked her knuckles grimly before glancing back over at Lhosa, who was finishing up packing the food. "I don't kill wantonly, you know." The woman escorted the Khil back out into the hall. "I don't know if that makes you feel any better."

"Eh, a little," Lhosa replied flatly, not really sure if it did. "Wanton" could be such a relative term.

Back in the control room, the woman repairing the communication system seemed to have made a breakthrough, and Parja eagerly passed out food to everyone in a welcome gesture of celebration. The mood seemed to have lightened somewhat even with the battle raging outside, although Canderous was still brooding. Lhosa and Grat watched curiously as the squad removed their helmets one by one; each new, sweaty face was a different shade of brown or tan with its respective complement of scars. Granted, diversity amongst Humans was nothing compared to the differences between different species, but it was still interesting to the two aliens to finally see faces to match with the personalities. The woman at the console was sharp-featured, tanned, brunette, and harried-seeming with constantly-pinched eyebrows. Aside from her, Parja, and Canderous, there were two other women and two men looking younger and more relaxed. They were probably enjoying this short reprieve from the battle, Lhosa thought, but they also seemed slightly antsy to get back into it. Canderous himself was graying and stony, his scarred, chiseled face stoic as he sipped at a bantha-milk packet and watched the proceedings.

A half-eaten food bar in one hand, the frazzled woman at the console keyed in frequencies until she finally found the one she was looking for. "Ah, hello, tactical command ship _Swiftsure_, this is…" She looked over to Lhosa for the designation of the station; asking someone in person was probably quicker than having to look it up on the network.

"Er, Arcadii Astrogeological Company Outpost Nern-Esk-Mern Seven-Two," Lhosa recited, dredging up the official name of the station from the depths of her memory, in the brain-bureau marked Mostly-Useless Information. Times like these were what made that information only _mostly_ useless.

The woman's eyebrows raised. "That's a mouthful," she muttered before repeating the name for the operator on the other end.

"Arcadii Seven-Two, this is _Swiftsure_," a curt, professional, female voice relayed back in a crisp Coruscanti accent. "May I ask why a civilian installation would be contacting a Republic Navy ship?"

"Because this is a Mandalorian you're speaking to," the warrior replied darkly. "We've commandeered the station," she explained, not letting the woman on the other side get a word in edgewise, "and before you cut the line, listen to me and listen hard. Our fleet is under attack and we need reinforcements—Republic reinforcements."

There was silence on the other line, the faint click of a call being routed. Then, "Admiral Carth Onasi," an authoritative male voice stated, "to…Arcadii Seven-Two, and its Mandalorian occupants. I understand you're under attack?"

"That is correct, Admiral."

"By the same forces that have been attacking your planetary colonies?"

"You would be in the affirmative. Our intel says you're just a few systems over. Care to help us out?"

Lhosa was paying close attention to the conversation. She hadn't heard about this. Last she knew, the Mandalorians were conquering everything like a vicious disease—she had no idea they themselves were being fought, apparently by the same thing that was currently duking it out with them outside. A glance at Grat showed that he was surprised, too. It had to be a fairly recent occurrence, then—and one that the holofeed news crews weren't exactly enthusiastic to report about.

"How do I know you won't turn on us once we've helped you?" Carth asked suspiciously.

"No promises," the Mandalorian deadpanned, "but if we don't stop these things, no one will be able to. The only reason they haven't started attacking the Republic in full force yet is because they see us as the bigger threat. Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Carth seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I've received recent information that your numbers have been greatly reduced by these guys. Sure you don't want to call a truce?"

"We can discuss truces after we survive this," the woman growled. "Better get your ships over here fast."

Lhosa could nearly hear the smirk in the man's voice as he replied, "We'll be there within the hour. Admiral Onasi, over and out."

The woman leaned back and turned around in the chair, sighing and watching Canderous's face for any sign of approval. He nodded, ever so slightly.

It was Grat who spoke next. "Admiral Onasi," he mused. "That's a name what's been on the holofeeds lately. Seems the previous admiral of that fleet, Karath, died in the Battle of Ottega two months ago and Onasi replaced him. They say he's doin' a bang-up job, real popular with the recruits."

"So, you do have a bit of warrior in you," Parja noted, her eyes creasing in a smile.

The Drovian shrugged dismissively. "More of a hobby than anything else."

"Did the holofeeds tell you who the participants were in the Battle of Ottega?" Canderous asked, his expression unchanging as he looked down at the sitting alien through eyes narrowed with years of built-up toughness.

"The Republic and…well, we all kinda assumed it was you Mandos," Grat replied, scratching the back of his head with his claws.

"It wasn't." Canderous snorted. "It was…these things. They've had scouts in the Outer Rim for a couple decades now, watching, waiting. When I was young, I came across one of 'em in an asteroid field just like this one. We left it alone, but looking back…that probably wasn't the best idea." His gaze grew distant.

"How were we to have known, sir?" Parja asked. "It wasn't like any of us could have seen this coming."

"Well, if there's anything good that's come out of it, it's that the people like us more on planets we've colonized," one of the younger men commented with a grin.

"What do you mean?" Lhosa looked at him inquisitively.

"If you save people from grotesque invaders, you're their heroes, even if you did forcibly occupy their planet," he pointed out.

"Really?" The Khil was surprised, but at the same time it did make sense.

"It's happened several times so far," Parja explained. "We're slowly gaining sympathy from the inhabitants of planets we've colonized, since they've seen that we're willing to protect them alongside our own people in times of attack."

"Not that their opinion matters," Canderous grumbled.

"I'm not adverse to the idea of them liking us a little more," Parja retorted, earning her nothing more than a roll of the eyes from her commanding officer. She turned back to Lhosa. "Although these invaders have been mainly focusing their attacks on us, presumably because they seem to have taken us for the main galactic military power, over the past couple of months they've apparently been making forays into attacking Republic fleets as well. They're getting restless, and they're no easy target for us. They're warriors, through and through."

"Who are 'they', exactly?" Lhosa asked. "Do they have a name?"

"They seem to call themselves the 'Vong' or something like it."

"May I ask how you learned that?" Grat asked, looking a little discomforted.

"Sometimes we can get them to live long enough that we can extract information from them," Parja replied calmly. Her calm was tested when the station was hit by another barrage of fire, making the Mandalorians tense and sending Grat sprawling onto the floor, grumbling angry things. Lhosa experienced a brief moment of panic when she realized that the life support systems might give out at any time.

The comm fizzled. "Arcadii Seven-Two, this is the _Swiftsure_," the operator's voice called out; it was the same woman from before. "We've just exited hyperspace and are approaching the battle." She paused for a moment. "Do you want us to come pick you up? You're sitting ducks out there and it's not looking pretty."

"Yes, please," Lhosa urged her companions, not knowing how much longer the shields could hold up but figuring an astroindustrial outpost probably wasn't built to withstand much worse of a beating than getting hit by a few stray asteroids. She had no idea what a "tactical command ship" was, but it sounded much safer than here.

The Mandalorian at the console glanced down at her, then at Canderous, who although unmoving somehow managed to convey a look that said everything. "Swing on by and we'll board," she decided.

"How many have you got?"

The woman looked back down at Lhosa again for the answer. "…Are we _all_ coming?" the Khil asked, perplexed.

"If you want a better shot at surviving, yeah," the Mandalorian replied dryly.

Lhosa did a little mental estimating. "There are probably about sixty of us that work here, including Grat and me."

"We've got about sixty-seven. Hope your crew likes civilians." The woman reclined in the chair, stifling a yawn. Lhosa didn't think she'd ever heard of a Mandalorian being tired before. So they really were mortal.

"It'll be fine—it's only temporary," the pleasantly competent voice on the other end assured her. "Admiral Onasi has already okayed bringing aboard as many refugees as needed." Lhosa wondered if the operator was surprised that the Mandos had spared the workers. "Are we to assume they have emergency shuttles?"

"Yes," Lhosa replied; at this point she had stood up and was leaning over the console next to the Mandalorian to save the woman the inconvenience of being a go-between for information. "Yes, ma'am, we have enough shuttles for everyone. That _is_ standard safety protocol."

If the operator was at all surprised by suddenly hearing a different person speaking to her, her level tone didn't reveal it. "Excellent. Please have everyone ready to board in ten minutes; the fleet is giving us cover for now but we haven't much time. You happen to be in an unfortunately tactically vulnerable position."

"Er, sorry," Lhosa offered before the communication ended. The Khil wondered how communications officer was able to stay so subjective about everything.

"P'arvid is so gonna fire you when we let her out of the dorms," Grat mused in a moment of cruel mirth, poking his co-worker with one claw.

"Yeah, I know," Lhosa replied shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

Grat refused to leave his model ships behind. Lhosa had been dumbstruck when she saw him trundling out of his dorm with his arms full of scale replicas of craft she had no idea existed, bristling with tiny armament.

"You are _not_ bringing those, Grat," Lhosa huffed, folding her arms.

"Oh, and why not?" the out-of-shape Drovian replied, exhausted and gasping for air as he glanced around his dorm one last time to make sure he hadn't forgotten any misplaced ships in a corner. "I worked for hours on each of these guys and I'm not lettin' 'em get blown up!"

"Your loyalty to your armada is admirable," Parja remarked, amused, "even if it is plastic." Probably because of her rapport with Lhosa, the Mandalorian had been assigned by Canderous to accompany the Khil and the Drovian to explain to the bewildered station workers what was going on. As Grat had predicted, P'arvid, a no-nonsense grey-green Nautolan who sported a bionic eye augmentation to help with processing data, was livid at the idea of Mandalorians having gotten onto _her_ outpost, but any anger she might have wanted to take out on Lhosa was abated by the fact that they were all currently in mortal danger. Thankfully, the rest of the workers, although none too happy about the current turn of events, were being compliant. No one wanted to see a Mandalorian angry, not even P'arvid.

But Grat was being difficult in an entirely different way. "Here, Lhosa, help me carry these," he insisted, placing a hammer-shaped craft into the Khil's hands.

"How are you going to explain this to the crew of the _Swiftsure_?" Lhosa groaned, looking the model over. She had hurriedly stuffed her most prized keepsakes, her datapad, and her favorite and most durable clothes into the backpack slung on her shoulders. Everything else was expendable considering the circumstances.

"I'm sure they'd appreciate it," Grat sniffed as though he were some sort of military connoisseur whose genius Lhosa could not possibly hope to comprehend.

"Ah, is this a _Jehavey'ir_-type?" Parja asked, taking one of the models gingerly from Grat's thick arms and inspecting it curiously; although her helmet was back on Lhosa could tell the woman's eyes were lighting up simply by the tone of her voice. "Very nicely done, I commend you; I do have to point out, though, that the turbolasers' range of movement in the real thing is horizontal, not vertical."

"Manufacturers' mistake," Grat shrugged. "They can't be expected to get all the details right."

"Oh, not you, too!" Lhosa moaned, pushing the two back out into the hallway. As if things weren't bad enough, camaraderie was starting to happen.

"Even so, I'm surprised they even make models of Mandalorian ships," Parja continued, not seeming to mind Lhosa's herding. "Oh, and I've never seen a Basilisk with these kinds of decorative stripes…"

"That was a personal touch," Grat pointed out with a grin. "I'm kinda makin' my own fleet in miniature. It passes the time between shifts."

Parja chuckled. "There is more warrior in you than you might think, Drovian."

Grat looked a little flustered. "Eh, I don't really feel like one. I'd better survive this, you hear me?"

The woman's helmet tilted in amusement. "I still don't understand valuing survival over glory," she mused.

"Yeah, and I don't understand running yourself up against the enemy's vibroblade, but whatever," the Drovian shrugged. "At least you've got great taste in spaceships."

Everyone was quickly herded into the docking bay and onto the shuttles—squat, boxy, windowless little things, but considering that they didn't need to do anything more than ferry passengers through space in the case of an emergency, there was no particular need to be aesthetically appealing. Lhosa, unsure what to do and where to go, and feeling like an idiot carrying a toy spaceship around like a lost child, was about to drift toward the shuttles when a gloved hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

"Aren't you coming with us?" the woman who had been at the communications console asked. Her armor was crimson and goldenrod and her helmet had tally marks on it-lots of them. Lhosa would learn later that each tally stood for an entire ship the warrior had brought down.

Lhosa tilted her head, seeing that Parja and Grat were already boarding the Mandalorians' ship. "Uh, well, I—why?" she asked. "Are we still hostages?"

The woman laughed, escorting the Khil to the gangplank. "No, you and the orange guy have graduated to official mascot status." Upon seeing the look of surprise on Lhosa's face, she patted the younger woman on the back. "Really, we appreciate you saving our hides earlier. If you hadn't let us in, we'd have been space dust. Canderous wants you to come with us."

"R…really?" Lhosa's eyes widened as she climbed the metal grating into the snug interior of the gunship, which was currently only lit by some aquamarine ambient light and the cool blue of display screens mounted in strategic positions on the walls. "When did Canderous say that? He seems like he doesn't like us much." He seemed like he didn't really like _anything_ much.

"You'd be surprised how much he's warmed up to you and Grat. Here," the woman paused to show Lhosa to an empty seat lining the wall, across from a holofeed that was currently showing the view from the cockpit, which was merely the back wall of the docking bay. "Granted, 'warming up' for the man generally means 'not going to kill you any time soon', but I'd say that's quite a feat, especially for two non-Mandalorians."

The ship began to rumble and shudder, a sign that the massive engines were starting up. Lhosa watched the viewfeed curiously; the ship's gravity dampeners prevented its occupants from feeling any changes in velocity, so observing the docking bay wall pull away and rotate into the blackness of space felt surreal, like it was nothing more than a holofilm.

That feeling was quickly mitigated by the ship shaking violently as it was hit by a barrage of fire. The field of space outside the station was a total mess, with wrecked Mandalorian and Vong ships littering the area and energy flying everywhere. Closer to the gunship than Lhosa thought it would be was a truly immense white-and-red battleship shaped like a disc with a large single fin on its underside. The Mandalorians' ship was approaching it quickly, and although the battleship's bulk took up most of the screen, Lhosa could see a few hammer-shaped ships complementing it. She realized they were the same shape as the object she was holding on to for Grat, and she glanced down at the comparatively tiny scaled replica. "…You know, I don't even know what these things are," she realized.

"_Hammerhead_-class cruisers," the woman replied. "Basically the workhorse of the Republic Navy. They're pretty ubiquitous."

"Huh." The Khil suddenly began to feel very out of place in a ship where everyone probably knew vastly more about what was going on than she did. "What happens if one of the shuttles gets blown up?" Lhosa asked no one in particular, looking back to the viewscreen and staring at the green dots on the smaller radar sub-screen as though they would be okay as long as she kept her eyes on them. She couldn't believe that these Vong were actually attacking civilian ships as though the poor things were part of the battle. It was senseless, it was madness. If even one of those little dots blipped out, that was twenty people she knew and worked with every day, people who had families and dreams.

"Then I guess your boss will be pretty mad at you, won't she," the Mandalorian said in an attempt to lighten the gravity of the situation, patting the Khil on the shoulder reassuringly.

"Well, ain't this dandy," Grat sighed, easing himself onto the bench next to Lhosa with Parja close behind. "Fine mess we've got ourselves into."

"It's not like we could really have done anything about it," Lhosa pointed out with a sigh.

"Bad news, Vhonte," Parja said to the other Mandalorian woman. "The Vong are trailing us."

Vhonte grunted in displeasure. "If we don't create enough of a gap between us and them, they could slip in with us and board the _Swiftsure_. I don't even want to think about engaging them in melee right now."

"M-melee?" Lhosa squeaked.

The two women looked down at her. "Oh, no, _you're_ not going to be doing any fighting," Parja assured her. "We're not as cruel and stupid as to send civilians into the fray. Besides, there's a chance we could outrun them."

"Unlikely," Vhonte groaned, glancing over at the viewscreen as the ship shook again. The radar showed a cluster of red dots closing in swiftly on the gunship. She slammed a fist against the wall. "Can't this blasted thing go any faster?!"

"Not really!" a half-joking reply came from over the intercom; this prompted the four to share a chuckle which quickly died as they remembered their circumstances.

"Come on, come on," Lhosa hissed through her _hullepi_ as her gaze jumped back and forth from the yellow triangle representing the gunship and its trail of green dots, trying desperately to outrun the red ones, to the quickly-approaching docking bay of the _Swiftsure_. Now she could see that several of its turbolasers were firing almost at them, the huge bolts of energy streaking past the ship. Two of the red dots that were tagging one of the shuttles flickered and disappeared. "Is that really safe?" she wondered aloud.

"They're pretty good shots," Vhonte assured her. "Trust me on that one."

"I really don't want to die," Lhosa confessed. "Is that bad?"

The two Mandalorians' body language immediately became somewhat condescending. "Well…" Parja began awkwardly. "Everybody's gotta go sometime. And even if you do die, you will go out pretty nobly for a civilian. You did help us earlier. That was an honorable deed."

"That's…not very comforting," the Khil sighed, gripping the _Hammerhead_ model like it was some sort of plastic lifeline.

"I hear it's pretty quick. You won't feel much before it's over." Parja sounded resigned, like a proper warrior.

After a moment of silence, Grat turned to Lhosa. "…I don't want to die, either," he admitted quietly. They watched the screen with bated breath.

The ship swerved and tilted, trying to get the swarm of small, organic fighters off its back while still staying in as straight a course for the hangar as possible; many of the Vong craft were taken out by the gunship's laser cannons or the _Swiftsure_'s turbolasers, but when the gunship came careening in to the bay, a sizeable group of fighters still followed.

"Get to the bridge!" Canderous suddenly bellowed, shoving himself into the corridor unannounced—Lhosa winced and held her ear. "Vhonte, Parja, take those two to the bridge, we'll hold them off!"

"They're trying to get into the shuttles, sir!" someone shouted over the intercom from the cockpit; inside of the capital ship, the gunship's laser cannons were too perilous to fire without the risk of damaging vital systems or compromising the structural integrity of the bay, not to mention the chance of hitting the shuttles.

Canderous said something frustrated in Mandalorian and opened the hatch. "Go, _go!_ We'll cover you!"

Before Lhosa could gather her thoughts she and Grat were suddenly whisked down the gangplank amidst a cloud of combatants, as the officers manning this hangar were valiantly trying to hold off the attackers, whom Lhosa could not see much of except for glints of hard, spiny black armor like some kind of insect. Blaster bolts were flying everywhere and the screams of the dying were terrifying, and over Parja's shoulder Lhosa could see the door to relative safety, although it seemed a mile away and the Khil's legs felt like mud.

Suddenly, a hideous, pale, tattooed face popped up in front of Lhosa and she screamed. The creature was the most malicious-looking thing she had ever seen, with its dark, hate-filled eyes and lopsided features, one side of its head sporting twice the amount of knobs and small horns as the other, as though its face was wet clay that it regularly remolded for fun.

In desperation, she did the only thing she could think of and lobbed the _Hammerhead_-class model at that terrifying visage, hitting it square between the eyes. Perhaps the thing hadn't expected her to actually fight back, as this attack took it by surprise and it was knocked off balance, and in the moment of confusion that followed Vhonte took it out with her blaster rifle before ushering Lhosa forward up the ramp that led to the door.

"_My model!_" Grat whined, looking back at the broken plastic strewn about the floor of the bay.

"Come _on!_" Lhosa insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. "We can come back for it later!" She now realized why she never would willingly grab hold of a Drovian under any other circumstances, because his skin sagged and yielded uncomfortably beneath her fingers and was disturbingly cool to the point where she couldn't tell whether or not it was actually slimy. She blew out her _hullepi_ and kept going, her brow furrowed in exasperation and fear.

The Vong quickly realized that four of their quarry were making an escape, and moved to stop them, although they were met with heavy opposition. Grat himself made the noble sacrifice of throwing another one of his models, the Basilisk, at his assailants, but it fell short a half meter from his target's face and was crushed mercilessly, although the Vong was gunned down shortly afterward anyway.

After the two civilians and two Mandalorians practically dove through the doors leading to the hallway, Vhonte chuckled. "I have to admit, that was pretty ingenious," she mentioned to Lhosa, nudging the Khil's shoulder affectionately and ignoring the looks of surprise and consternation their little group was getting from passing, harried officers. "It seems you have a bit of warrior in you, too."

"Eh, well," Lhosa shrugged noncommittally.

"First time I've seen a cruiser take down a Vong like _that_," Parja added wryly.

After a few wrong turns (as no one really knew quite where they were going), they finally ran into a deck officer who had the sense to take them to the bridge, where Admiral Onasi was waiting, poised serenely with his hands folded behind his back and facing the door as though there were not a heated battle going on directly behind him. Nearby, a silver-haired female Falleen swiveled around on a chair at a communications console and waved friendlily at the newcomers—Lhosa realized she must have been their connection with the _Swiftsure_ earlier. How relatively safe and long ago that seemed. The galaxy felt so much larger and colder now.

Onasi beamed, a congenial, fatherly smile that could make any soldier feel at ease. "Glad to see you made it in one piece," he said, stepping forward to appraise his visitors. His eyes lingered on the Mandalorians "Which one of you is the commander?"

"Yeah, wouldn't have been pretty to try to clean us up if those Vong had gotten to us," Parja muttered.

"Commander Ordo is still down in the hangar, doing some tidying," Vhonte explained. "He sent us up to have a chat with you."

"Ah." The Human man's gaze traveled to Lhosa and Grat; Lhosa raised a hand in a meek greeting while Grat fumbled with his remaining models, trying to look respectable but not really knowing what respectable looked like. "Civilians? From the station?"

"Yep," Lhosa replied with a nod. "Um, I'm Lhosa Tarnor, and this is Grat. We're nobody in particular, just two people who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time."

"An interesting way of putting it," Carth chuckled. "I know I heard your voice earlier, though."

"Yeah…thought I'd help out," Lhosa swung her head from side to side bashfully. "Better than sitting there doing nothing."

"Hangar 4-Besh to bridge," a male voice snapped over the intercom. "The attackers have been taken out. The Mandos are coming up to meet you."

"Were any of the shuttles harmed?" Carth asked, tilting his head toward the communications console.

"One of them was breached, but the intruder was killed before it could hurt anyone." A collective sigh of relief passed through the room.

"You Republic folk have some nice ships, I'll give you that," Parja mentioned, her helmet twisting as she looked around the bridge. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd be in here, _not_ shooting you guys up."

"We'll take that as a compliment," the Falleen smirked, draping one elbow over the back of her chair.

Another comm line crackled. This time the voice was female with a guttural accent. "_Testament_ to _Swiftsure, _Sector Five is clear, repeat, Sector Five is clear! All enemy ships have been destroyed with the Mandalorians' help!"

"Sectors One and Three, clear, Admiral!" another voice chimed in from another line. The Falleen widened her eyes and began keying in commands furiously as the command ship was bombarded with incoming communications from other Republic ships affirming that the Vong ships had been eradicated. Requests for a surrender had not been returned.

"What about you, Sector Two?" one of the other communications officers, a female Chagrian, asked, adjusting her customized headset.

There was silence on the other end for a few tense seconds, and then, "Sector Two is clear," a harried male voice replied. "Only three enemy ships left, and—and they're, they're asking for a surrender, I don't believe this."

"Take them into custody," Carth instructed with a nod. "No sense in a slaughter. After all, they've got families," he commented, his gaze growing distant.

"Good, now we can finally get some answers," Parja added. "I'd love to know where they came from and why they decided to attack us."

Lhosa's shoulders slumped and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes. "It's over," she breathed. "It's finally over. And we didn't die."

"Not yet, anyway," Grat grumbled, earning him a Khil elbow in his side.

"I think that was the entire fleet, or what was left of them," a strong voice intoned from behind them; Lhosa turned to see Canderous step through the door to the bridge, holding his side, the other warriors in his squad limping behind them. All of them had sustained injuries and one of the men was being supported by his female squadmate.

Canderous slogged over to the four who had beaten him to the bridge. "Admiral," he said simply, looking over at Carth and offering the man a tired salute, which Carth returned.

"Commander," Onasi replied, a trace of a smile working its way across his lips. "Truce?"

"I'm afraid I'm not the one who gets to decide that," Canderous replied resignedly, leaning on Parja's shoulder for support. "You wouldn't happen to know what happened to the _Gratua_, would you?" A brief confused silence showed no one knew what he was talking about. "_Kandosii_-type dreadnaught? There was only one of them in this battle."

"It was the only one left in the _fleet_," Vhonte mentioned.

"They didn't need to know that," Canderous muttered.

"Kandosii-type_?_" a Cathar asked from the lower deck. "When we got here, there was a Kandosii-type wreck in Sector Three. No survivors, looks like," she related.

The Mandalorians looked stunned for a moment, and then bowed their heads slightly. "He knew…" Canderous muttered under his breath.

"…What happened?" Carth asked. "The Mandalore was on that ship?"

"Yeah, and so were we," Canderous explained. "We chased the Vong fleet remnants here, not realizing they'd stationed asteroid-look-alike scout ships in this field. They ambushed our dreadnaught and sent nearly all systems offline, including comm and navicomp. _Mand'alor _sent my strike team and me to their station," he related, jabbing his thumb over at Lhosa and Grat, "to find some way to contact you. As much as I hate to admit it…you were our only hope."

"That was pretty trite, Commander," one of the younger men groaned.

"What about the rest of the fleet?" Carth asked, brow furrowed.

"That _was_ the rest of the fleet," Canderous grumbled. "What a pyrrhic victory this was. The Vong are no longer a threat, but we're not even one hundredth of the military force we used to be…"

"I thought you had forces on occupied planets," Carth prompted.

"We do, and they've been doing their duty driving the Vong away from those planets, but not without great loss," Vhonte mentioned. "What you saw and participated in today, Admiral, was a last battle between two once-great powers, whose evenly-matched might wore them down until they probably would have wiped each other out if you had not intervened. Instead, now we have hope for the future." She folded her arms and looked over at Canderous. "And I say you'd make a pretty great _Mand'alor_, Commander."

"Hear, hear," Parja agreed.

Canderous looked over at them. "…Really?" His other squadmates nodded enthusiastically.

"Um…you've got my vote," Lhosa added, raising her hand slightly like a student who wasn't sure whether or not they had the right answer.

"Non-_Mando'ade_ don't count," Canderous replied gruffly. "…But thanks." He stood tapping one foot contemplatively for a moment before shifting his weight and linking to the comm system in his gunship, via his helmet. "_Mand'alor is dead!_" he announced to the remaining ships in the fleet in _Mando'a_. "_In his stead, as his successor, I will carry our people through this time of change! Our glory will not diminish, but will live forever! I am Te Taylir Mand'alor!_" Although no one else could hear it, a volley of cheers echoed into the man's helmet.

"Mand'alor the Preserver, huh," Vhonte commented, translating her commander's new title for the non-Mandalorians listening to his "acceptance speech". "Has a nice ring to it."

"I almost wonder if this isn't what our old _Mand'alor_ wanted to have happen," Parja mused. "Knowing he himself was doomed, and wanting to go down in a blaze of glory fighting his foe, he sent his chosen successor off to ensure that man's survival. It's a shame he didn't send the mask with you, though," she poked.

"I think I can live without the mask." Canderous turned to Carth again. "Which brings us to what to do now. Don't think this means we're going to become Republic vassals or anything."

"I don't think you will," Carth replied. "Your wishes of autonomy are valid, and I think you've proven that you're responsible administrators by the way you defended your territory against the Vong. I think the people on those planets are going to see you in a new light for that. I'm sure something can be worked out. I wouldn't want to see this peace broken." He beckoned for the group to follow him to the bridge, where Republic and Mandalorian ships were clustering around the _Swiftsure_. It was a sight Lhosa never thought she'd see, those two once-warring factions now acting as though they had belonged together in the first place. Even the three Vong cruisers didn't seem quite so out of place. "Unfortunately, I'm not the Republic Senate," Carth continued, putting his hands in the pants pockets of his uniform.

"Looks like we're going to Coruscant, then," Canderous remarked. Immediately, he began barking orders into his helmet as the communications officers did the same, albeit much more politely and in Galactic Basic, for the Republic ships.

"Erm…what about us?" Lhosa asked.

Her two Mandalorian friends looked over at her and Grat. "…You're fired, aren't you?" Parja reminded her.

"Royally."

"Ever been to Coruscant?"

"No, but I hear it's crowded and it smells."

Parja chuckled and rested an elbow on Lhosa's shoulder. "No better place for a vacation, right?"

Lhosa looked over at the woman, who had a point. Lhosa had never actually liked her job, anyway, but for some reason hanging out with crazy warriors and witnessing history-changing events was more fulfilling than anything she'd done in the past three years. Her eyes creased in the Khil equivalent of a smile. "Yeah, I think so," she relented.

Grat looked like he didn't want to be left out. "I quit!" he exclaimed jubilantly, throwing up his arms and forgetting that he had been holding his models, which clattered all over the floor; he seemed quite embarrassed as Vhonte helped him pick them up.

Lhosa and Parja glanced over at him awkwardly as Carth, the Mandalorians, and the deck officers tried to suppress laughter. "Well…this should be interesting," Lhosa muttered.

Parja nodded. "I think this war's ended far better than anyone could have hoped."

"Yeah, I'm glad the Jedi didn't end up getting involved," Lhosa commented. "Who knows what might have gone wrong."


End file.
